


Late Night Talk

by LonelyIntrovert



Category: Inheritance Cycle
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Heavy Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13396755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyIntrovert/pseuds/LonelyIntrovert
Summary: Arya comes to visit Eragon and in the process they learn more about each other.  Has drug use.





	Late Night Talk

Eragon anxiously pulled the sleigh to the side of the road, the snow coming down in earnest now. The small cottage before him was protected by pair of towering evergreen trees that he had sung from the soil himself, and the stone bricks that made up the foundation were laid by Saphira. The light from the glass-paned window streamed out onto the snow, dying it a golden color. Disembarking from his transport, Eragon folded the blanket over to cover the seats and petted the reindeer as he sank ankle-deep into the thick snow. He could not but help and admire his handiwork as he approached the small oak door. The building took him three months to complete, in which he entwined protective spells so as to prevent the roof from collapsing, or a window from breaking. Condensation pooled at the inside of the window, blurring the glimpse he had to the warm interior. Stomping his feet on the small cleared space prior to the entrance, Eragon rolled his shoulders back and released of plume of breath, watching it as the mist dissipated in the adverse weather. The air was chilled but not overly cold, and Eragon discovered that he kind of enjoyed the feeling of the snowflakes falling and melting on his nose and cheeks.

Sucking in a breath of cold air, Eragon raised a mitten-covered hand and banged on the door. There was a pause, in which he looked about himself idly, and then the door was thrown open, light and warm air spilling around him. 

“Eragon?” questioned a dubious voice as a regal elf beheld him, bewildered. “Aye, milady, ‘tis I, Eragon,” he responded obviously, “and I was wondering if I could esquire you, Queen Arya, around the place and provide you with a tour.” Arya’s eyes narrowed and she observed him in a puzzled silence, as if trying to discern the level of his sanity. “It’s snowing,” she said slowly. “Aye and it is a most marvelous snow,” he replied, a wide grin spreading across his face, “The flakes are thick and heavy, so they fall straight down because of the lack of wind! I do believe that if it continues as such, we would have gained two more feet by daybreak!” “You are serious?” Arya asked incredulously, leaning on the door slightly as if the proposition physically drained her. “What, the tour or the snow?” Eragon asked coyly. Arya rolled her eyes and asked, “Where would we possibly go?” 

Eragon’s grin widened even farther and he responded in a rich tone, “Alas, you have breached the crux of the matter! I plan to travel due east a few minutes and then turn north from there and continue on for-” “Yes, yes but where is that?!” interrupted Arya. “A natural wonder; a light show,” Eragon said in a softer tone, his eyes scrunching up with humor. In a serious voice, he asked, “Did you really think I would leave you clear up here, all by yourself on your first night?” “I did not know what to think,” Arya confessed. 

Skipping over her comment, Eragon clapped his hands together, which created a muffled sound because of his thick fur mittens. “You saw the winter clothing on your bed, yes?” Eragon asked excitedly, a glint in his eye. “Of course,” Arya answered warily. “Well, those were provided by the native people here, they have no choice but to hunt during the winter, and they use every last bit of what they get. Fur is the only wear that protects against hypothermia and frostbite in these parts. The…I don’t know what to call him in this language…host? Yes, the host has very graciously provided us with clothing, and he also sends his regards. He was not able to make it here today because of the weather conditions, but he lives at the bottom of the mountain. You have already stated that you will not linger here for much longer, and you have yet to be entertained properly. So, I ask again, will you accompany me?” 

Arya’s face was a strange mask that he could not read. For a moment, he feared she would decline, and send him away shame-faced and guilty. But then…

Arya bowed her head and said formerly, “It is true, I have not learned as much about this land as I would have liked, and therefore I would be honored to accompany you. Please, wait here and allow me to change into suitable attire.” And with that, she smiled at him gently before the door closed quietly behind her.

Eragon punched the air and whooped silently, excitement blossoming in his chest. He had done it. Patting the nearest reindeer contentedly, he whispered to it, “Did you hear?! She’s coming!” The reindeer snorted and let loose a stream of mist. “Yes, I’ll get you a carrot,” he mumbled after a pause. 

When the door re-opened five minutes later, Eragon raised his eyebrows as Arya stepped forward, clad in an outfit similar to his own. She closed the door behind her and the snow was once more plunged into an eerie gloom. Arya stepped towards the sleigh, her slanted eyes glowing slightly in the dimness. “Now you must explain what these are,” Arya demanded, examining the over-sized deer with interest. “They are reindeer,” Eragon explained, adjusting one of the reins, “Their natural habitat was the snow, so the natives domesticated them to pull sleighs. They are much more efficient at it than horses are.” “I see,” Arya responded absently, her mitten-covered hand stroking one of their faces. The reindeer’s wide eyes stared back at her, round pools of ebony reflecting her image back at her. 

The two clambered into the sleigh and with a few clicks of his tongue, Eragon and Arya set off. They progressed up the side of the large mountain, Eragon pointing out a landmark every once in a while as the snow continued to fall silently around them. They spoke little other than that, until Eragon exclaimed suddenly, “Oh, I almost forgot!” Arya watched, confused, as he rummaged underneath the seat for a few moments. Re-emerging, he produced a cylinder and two empty mugs. “Here,” he said, pulled off a cap of the thermos and pouring two glasses of a hot, steamy liquid as the reindeer continued to plod forward through the snow, almost on their own accord. 

“What is it?” Arya questioned suspiciously as accepted the mug from him. “Hot chocolate!” Eragon exclaimed, pulling his own mug closer to his body so as to conserve its warmth, “Go on, try it! It’s very good!” Arya glanced at him one last time before she lifted the mug to her lips and sipped speculatively. Tendrils of steam engulfed her face momentarily before Eragon could observe her reaction. Swabbing her mouth with her sleeve, Arya smiled appreciatively and said, “What a wondrous concoction!” Eragon shared a smile with her, admiring how the faint glow of the snow around them reflected in her eyes. 

The pair found themselves curving around the mountain at a gentle angle, the reindeer trotting at an unfaltering speed, their breathing even and slow. Before too long, a dull, gray mist engulfed them, too wear they could barely see the reindeer in front of them. The beasts did not hesitate, but rather plunged into the darkness, their heads held high and proud. Ice clung to the furs of their wear, and the sound of breaking icicles from the sleigh were the only erratic sounds. They were passing through a cloud.

And then all of a sudden the mist cleared, and a clear, dark blue sky emerged before them.

Eragon pulled the reindeers to a stop and said, “This is where we wait.” Arya’s cheeks were rosy and the tip of her nose was a bright red. Eragon held his mittens close to his face and breathed out deeply; cupping his breath and allowing the warmth of his lungs to engulf his numbed face. Arya did likewise. 

While they waited, Eragon served some more hot chocolate and they began to talk lightly about the politics of the land and the customs of each culture that they had come into contact with. And then they breached the topic of Murtagh.

“Have you seen him?” Eragon questioned, looking up at her from his mug. “Personally, I have glimpsed him on the horizon in my journeys, though I have never approached him, or he I. I have, however, sent a group of my subjects to follow him like a shadow. It makes me wary to have a restless and untrained rider travelling loose in the lands.” Eragon blinked in surprise. “Does he know that you have done this?” Arya shrugged, the lip of her fur coat momentarily obscuring her mouth from his view. “As far as I am aware, they have not made it a point to make their presence obvious; however, I would not be surprised if he suspects it or even knows. They have followed him around for almost a year now…I would be sorely disappointed if he could not figure out that much.” 

There was pause, in which Arya took a deep draught of the hot chocolate, drained her mug and extended it to Eragon wordlessly for a refill. As he did this, he asked, “What has Murtagh been doing then? When we last spoke on the knoll he told me he was going to live in the wilderness.” Arya accepted her renewed drink and replied thoughtfully, “He travelled around a bit shortly after Galbatorix’s fall…almost as if he could not decide on where to settle. After about three months of that, he travelled north into Du Weldenvarden… I do not believe he is aware of how close he is to our dwelling. Since then, he has erected a building of stone and wood, in which he has resided for nigh on six months. Thorn and he travel through the woods, and he chances upon the strange and fearless creatures within our forest. I know not exactly why he does this, probably to discover himself, but he walks through the woods at night, unarmed, and challenges whatever crosses his path. My subjects had to restrain themselves from interfering when he would kill the beasts with his hands, only on a whim. He would yell out into the darkness, full of anger, and Thorn would have to storm through the trees to placate him.”

“It sounds as if he is haunted by his past,” Eragon said in a knowing tone. “Alas, we can only assume,” Arya said as she swept the snow off of the blanket that engulfed their legs, “He is a troubled man, and I can merely hope that he overcomes his sickness soon. Murtagh wishes to walk alone, so I let him be…if he had not, I would have already welcomed him into our leafy halls, with the hope that our quiet nature would put him at ease.” “Perhaps he is of the idea that no race would accept him,” Eragon said in a somber tone as he gazed into the distance, “if I were he, I would also force myself into isolation in order to spare myself the ridicule of being the one who accomplished Galbatorix’s bidding.”

To this, Arya sighed, watching her breath curl into tendrils before being blown away by a nonexistent wind. “That, too, worries me,” she murmured sadly, “His is a heavy burden.” Eragon was going to respond, but then something bright danced at the edge of his vision. Eyes snapping up, he exclaimed, “It has begun!” 

Dancing columns of light trailed across the sky, dyed an iridescent green color that fluctuated at irregular intervals. Arya released an audible gasp as the light splayed across the sky like the fingers of some unseen creature. Eragon leaned back and exchanged glances between the sky and Arya’s expression. Her eyes were wide with wonder and a large smile had spread across her face. Eragon found himself mirroring her grin, and before he knew it, she caught him staring at her. What he did not expect was a trilling laugh to escape as she beheld his guilty expression, and soon both were laughing, their voices echoing throughout the mountain range.

 

Forty minutes later, Eragon disembarked from the sleigh as Arya did likewise on the other side. His cheeks were numb, and he wanted nothing more than to reach the confines of his bed and bury his face in his warm, downy pillow. Body trembling slightly, he escorted her to the cottage door as their feet now sunk into a foot of snow. Arya gave him an uncertain glance before saying, “Won’t you come in?”

Deeply surprised, Eragon’s once heavy eyelids jumped up on their own accord as he accepted her offer. When he lowered his head to cross into the threshold, he immediately appreciated the roaring fire that was magically maintained whenever entered. The cottage had three rooms- a large living area, a kitchen, and a bedroom/bathroom combination. Arya excused herself after she invited him to sit on the couch to absorb the warmth of the fire. When she returned five minutes later, she was clad in her usual outfit in which she stalked over to a cabinet and began to prepare drinks. As he watched, Eragon observed something that surprised him. “I wasn’t aware you smoked,” he said in a mild tone, gesturing towards a long, light pipe placed on a dresser, next to a red drawstring bag. Arya glanced at it in a bewildered fashion, before she chuckled and answered, “I don’t…it was a gift from Mysis, though at the time it seemed rude to refuse.” As she approached with a drink in hand, Eragon asked, “What will you do with it?” Seating herself adjacent to him, she sipped her own drink before replying thoughtfully, “Well, I guess it would be rude letting it go to waste…” And without any other prompting whatsoever, she plucked the pipe and bag from the dresser from her seat and pulled it on her lap. With raised eyebrows, Eragon watched as she examined the pipe closely, set it aside, and then pulled the drawstring bag open and peered into its depths. Using her forefinger and thumb, she extracted a small clump of the smoke stuff, held up to the light, and then crushed it slightly before taking a deep whiff. “Well?” Eragon asked in response as she blinked her eyes rapidly and wrinkled her nose.

“It’s definitely not cardus weed,” she said, placing it in the pipe and murmuring the word for fire under her breath. A single flame appeared a centimeter above her forefinger, in which she dipped into the pipe, lighting the dry foliage of the mystery plant. As she waited for it to catch, Arya placed her lips on the mouthpiece and blew swiftly, similar to an expert pipe wielder. When the smoke grew darker and hovered in the air longer, Arya removed the flame and took a long drag from the pipe, her slanted eyes growing distant as she held it in her lungs. After a few moments, she released her breath and coughed several times, smoke billowing out of her mouth. 

Eragon fidgeted as she regained her composure and puffed on it once more, this time exhibiting more confidence and control over her own reaction. Blowing the smoke out through her nose and mouth, she nodded absently before handing the instrument to Eragon wordlessly. He accepted it with numb fingers and gave her a hesitant glance. Arya saw his pause and nodded for him to continue. Emboldened to not look a coward in her presence, Eragon copied her form and placed the cool, smooth mouthpiece into his mouth. He exhaled through his nose and then took a deep drag; hot air began to fill his mouth and he had the strange sensation of both inhaling and suffocating at the same time. He held his breath and felt the smoke swirl out of existence in his lungs before releasing it and coughing several times as tears welled in his eyes. Arya watched with a bemused expression, her green eyes growing half-lidded in the dim firelight.

Eragon paused before taking a second, deeper drag on the pipe. This one went without much incident, and he passed the pipe unto Arya, who continued the cycle. After several eventless passes, in which no words were exchanged between the two, Eragon felt a curious sensation within his body, as if his mind was no longer connected to his body and was floating above him precariously. Giddy warmth spread throughout his extremities, and before he knew what he was doing, he began to giggle senselessly, Arya’s own trilling laugh joining his. At some points, when they were exchanging the pipe, there would be two Arya’s sitting side-by-side in identical arm chairs next to the couch, but then other times it would only be one. 

Not aware of how much time had passed, Eragon’s senses pervaded him quite suddenly and a stabbing feeling of hunger erupted in his belly. Having lost his mannerisms several puffs ago, Eragon asked Arya in a loud voice, “Do you have any food?” Arya, who had the pipe once more, blew a set of “o’s” before she said, “Yes, there is a loaf of bread in the cabinet above the washbasin. Grunting, Eragon resisted the overwhelming urge to itch his eyes; in fact, he had spotted how Arya’s own eyes had adopted reddish rings around them, and he wondered if it came from the drug or from the smoke that hung thick in the room. He rummaged around until he came across the loaf, and then returned to the couch as he split the bread in half and handed part of it to Arya. He pulled a hunk off of his half and bit into it, savoring the taste on his numb tongue. Arya handed him the pipe once more, and he puffed on it a few times, growing bolder and losing his senses. 

“Do you dink,” Eragon asked disjointedly, his mouth full of bread, “dat Mysis and Murtagh are togedder?” Arya, who had somehow managed to retain some of her more important senses, swallowed her mouthful, followed it with a ravenous draught from her goblet before responding impishly, “I’d wager my mother’s dowry they have not separated yet this night.”

Finally managing to swallow his mouthful, Eragon said in a wincing tone, “I find it hard to believe Mysis has the experience with men equal to that of a married woman.” “Are you saying that is a bad thing?” Arya questioned, peering down at him beadily. “No,” Eragon struggling to choose his words carefully, “it is just something I find surprising…she doesn’t come off as that type, you know?” “I’m not sure I do,” Arya said, sounding genuinely confused, “How do you define ‘that type’?” Massaging his sore eyes, Eragon said in an almost defensively, “Like, I don’t know, flirty and putting herself out there? Wearing her clothes a particular way and talking in a…submissive? Yes, submissive tone.” “So, you mean a prostitute?” Arya asked frankly, as if she were inquiring about the weather. “I guess…I mean, I wouldn’t know,” Eragon sighed. Arya blinked, her red eyes becoming unreadable before she shifted her gaze into the distance and muttered, “Either way, it is of no consequence to Murtagh; a good number of brothels enjoyed his business. I would assume that they view each other in a similar light, thus their attraction…One is as guilty as the other.” 

There was a pause, in which they ate and continued to puff on the pipe occasionally. Then suddenly, a question came to the forefront of Eragon’s mind; an impertinent, inappropriate and embarrassing question, but a question nevertheless. “Arya,” he asked, the colors of the cabin shifting to and fro. “Yes?” she responded absently, perched on the arm of her armchair now. “Have you ever…” he began, only to have his sensible self jump in and catch him before he uttered the rest of the question. “Have I ever what?” Arya asked almost carelessly, now blowing indistinct objects with the smoke. Feeling obligated to finish the deadly question but not knowing how in a polite manner, he said in a trembling voice, “Have you ever…you know…” 

There was a pause, in which Arya opened her mouth, appearing to press him further, but then she snapped it shut and turned towards him, her eyes gleaming with a flash of her former self, which had deserted her several minutes ago. 

“I do believe,” she said slowly, a surprisingly amused smile touching her lips, “that you are breaching a rather treacherous subject.” Eragon clamped his jaws tight, in order to stop his free-feeling self from pursuing the subject, but his curiosity was roused and now he really wanted to know her answer. “Well,” Eragon said, flushing deep scarlet, “I just wondered…Though I do expect that because of your age…” Eragon struggled to ignore the alarm bells in his head as a dangerous light flashed in Arya’s eyes. Turning to face him head on, she gazed at him in silence, puffing on the pipe rigorously. 

Pausing to add more foliage to the pipe, Arya said in a surprisingly calm voice, “I am confused as to why you would possibly want to know if I have ever had sex…alas, I do not hold the topic to such repulsion and reservation as your race seems to. As to your question, which I do not answer lightly for it is impudent within itself; I answer only because I look upon you as a close friend.” Eragon nodded vigorously, relieved that she had not gotten overly mad at him.

Gazing distantly through half-lidded eyes, Arya sighed and said, “The answer is, then, ‘no’…I have never had sex.” Eragon twisted his goblet in his hands, an odd sense of relief spreading throughout his drugged self. “So you’ve never wanted to…” he said, his voice trailing off. Arya’s eyes snapped back at him as she raised her eyebrows and cryptically said, “I never said that; lest I remind you, the desire to do something and the actual act of doing it are two very different things,” she waggled a finger and said, “assuredly, at times the impulse eluded me, probably due to my duties, but at other times the urge was very hard to resist.” She spoke with such frankness, as if the topic did not bother her at all, Eragon dared ask, “So are you saying there were times you almost did?” 

Arya released a humorless bark of a laugh before responding, “Yes and no…there was this one time, with Faolin…I do believe it would have escalated to that, but the timing was not right and I was still unsure towards him…Still, the fact remains, I am what you humans call ‘untainted’ and I only view as an experience I have forgone for a later time.” An odd silence fell between them, in which Arya studied him intently, though he pretended to be too absorbed with the pipe to notice her.

“So, methinks it would be only suitable if I reciprocated and asked you a similar question,” Arya said formerly, accepting the pipe from his relinquished hands. “I have not,” Eragon said uneasily, “And as for me almost participating in intercourse? Before the first fight of the war, Trianna cornered me, though I highly doubt it would have ended that way…at any rate, we would have dined together, but Saphira broke down the door and scared her away.” Arya’s expression was inscrutable as she studied him closely.

After a pause, Arya murmured softly, “Forgive me if this sounds rude, but I’m glad she did.” Eragon looked up at her and smiled uncertainly, which she returned in kind. A time of silence passed, in which the two admired the shifting colors at the edges of their vision. The fire grew low, until the embers pulsated with the little light in the room. The pipe was soon forgone, placed on a side table and forgotten while the shadows grew long and the pair refused to retire directly due to their incoherent state. 

When the effects of the drug abated somewhat, Eragon looked about himself to discover that more snow than expected fell, a thick layer raising up to the bottom of the window. Prepared to climb over the snowdrifts and roll to the sleigh, Eragon stood up, swaying slightly as he rose. 

“You do not have to leave,” Arya murmured softly, breaking the silence. Eragon turned and looked at her, discovering that her eyes had returned to their normal color and she seemed to be coming to her senses as well. Her legs were drawn up with her arms wrapped around them, her chin resting on her knees as she gazed pensively into the embers of the fire. “Okay,” Eragon hoarsely replied, unsure as to what kind of invitation she had provided him. Sitting back down on the couch, he shot her an unsure glance before he propped his legs up on the coffee table before him. Knitting his fingers together across his stomach placidly, Eragon raised his eyebrows when Arya gathered herself from her armchair by the dying fire and inhabited the spot next to him, her thigh pressing on his and her scent overpowering his senses.

Crossing her arms and legs protectively, Arya retorted dryly, “It gets cold at night.” Eragon nodded absently, not able to tear his gaze from her face; partially obscured by a screen of her hair. His eyes grew heavy so Eragon leaned the back of his head on the couch, craning his neck and studying the ceiling in silence. The fire had completely died out, and now a chill crept into the room. The only warmth Eragon felt was from where his thigh and shoulder came in contact with Arya’s. Not able to keep his eyes open, Eragon’s consciousness danced on the cusp of sleep, one part of him wishing to prolong the feeling of Arya next to him, the other wishing to satisfy his biological need of rest. 

The shifting of weight on the couch stopped him from falling into slumber, and he soon felt Arya’s head on his shoulder, her steady breathing tickling his throat. It took Eragon a moment to realize that she was already asleep, that she was no longer in control of voluntary mobility. Moving cautiously, directed by instinct, Eragon wrapped his arm around Arya, pulling her closer and holding her in a protective vice. An ache formed in his chest, and he swallowed several times, trying to prevent his tears from welling over. When the feeling passed, he reached with his free hand and grasped a fur throw at the other end of the couch. Attempting to not jostle her too much, he spread the blanket over the both of them and then placed his chin on the top of her head, allowing the scent of evergreen nettles to overwhelm him.


End file.
